


Binded By the Light

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Cis Female Hermann, Cis Female Newt, Clothing Kink, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Light Bondage, Light-Hearted, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: A post-war celebration gives Newt and Hermione the chance to address some feelings (and work off some steam).





	Binded By the Light

**Author's Note:**

> I need to apologize for the AWFUL pun in this title that will only make sense once you have read this fic (Hint: the sconces are so important).
> 
> Thanks to freezerjerky for beta'ing and the Trash Snakes for being super trash as usual, you're all the best ;)
> 
> Also, Jacob Geiszler rejects your gender binary naming conventions, so Newt is still Newton in this fic. Lars Gottlieb was not so progressive.

This is the final straw.

Newt is standing by the punch bowl in a tight-fitting, low-cut, curve-hugging red dress, and Hermione's entire body snaps to attention like a lightning bolt has shocked it alive.

Bloody _hell_.

It had been possible, before the drift, for Hermione to ignore the slowly escalating intensity of her feelings for Newt, the crackling dual flames of _want_  and _need_  that, nowadays, has most of their arguments ending with Hermione storming off to cool down and stop herself from dragging Newt into a desperate kiss. It had been possible, at one point in time, to pretend that she hated the other woman, hated her chaos, her brashness, her willingness to take risks, her distaste for authority, her tendency to run her mouth, her need to challenge every theoretical model that Hermione ever put forth about the Breach. It had been comforting, in fact, to do so, rather than to admit that she was falling for a person who found her stodgy, prudish, old-fashioned; an impossible match, clearly Newt would not, could not possibly feel the same way.

And then the drift had occurred, and all of Hermione's preconceived notions had gone out the window, as she had been pulled through the other woman's memories, thoughts, and feelings. She had seen a flipped perspective of their first meeting, with Newt thinking she had ruined her chance to connect with Hermione, this brilliant woman she had fallen for through a tempestuous correspondence. She had watched their reunion five years ago in the Shatterdome K-Science lab, felt Newt's uncertain hope doused by Hermione's cold attitude. And yet the bright flame of Newt's feelings refused to go out, quietly nursed in late nights together in the lab, Newt watching her from afar, aching to cross the dividing line, gather Hermione into her arms and take her to bed, just to hold and be held and block out the terror of the potential apocalypse. Those feelings grew stronger the longer they worked together, connecting over tentative cups of coffee and tea, bickering over Kaiju anatomical theories and Breach calculations, until Newt's world had narrowed in focus, to understanding the Kaiju, and understanding why her heart wanted someone who so clearly found her distasteful.

There hadn't been time, after the drift, to discuss what they'd seen, what they now knew of one another. There had been scrambling back to the transport, yelling at PPDC officials and more calculations on the ride to the Shatterdome, and then bursting into LOCCENT to deliver the plan-altering news of how to enter the Breach. After it was closed, Hermione tried to engage, to initiate some sort of conversation, but no sooner had Newt draped her arm over Hermione's shoulder and given her a soft, gorgeous smile, then someone was dragging Newt away because harvesting samples from Otachi and the baby Kaiju was more important than whatever they wanted to say to one another.

And then Hermione found herself on another transport before Newt's return, flying with Marshall Hansen, Ranger Beckett and Ms. Mori to conference in-person with the council, Hermione acting on behalf of the whole K-Science team. After all, Newt was in her head now; she'd watched herself as Newt, meeting with Hannibal Chau, fumbling blindly in the shelter for her glasses as Otachi broke through the roof, running pell-mell through the streets to escape certain death. So, she knew enough about what had occurred to give the full explanation.

After that, the council had done what it always did best: politicking its way out of a massive fuck-up. It announced a celebratory gala to honor the "Heroes of V-Day," with the remaining living Jaeger Pilots, the LOCCENT team, K-Science, and the Hong Kong Shatterdome administration (which amounted mostly to Herc) as honorary guests. Quickly, hundreds of politicians, corporate executives, military officials, and celebrities from dozens of countries were invited to a massive celebration; a benefit gala that would commemorate the sacrifices made by all honored guests and allow the council to pretend they had taken the Jaeger program as seriously as they should've.

Hermione found herself being put up in a swanky hotel, with a billfold of money and orders from the Marshall to "buy something formal that was made in this goddamn decade, Gottlieb," as if she had access to any of her usual outfits halfway across the world. Left to her own devices for twenty-four hours, she could've called or texted Newt, but knowing that Newt would be flown out to attend the gala as well, it seemed better to wait to speak in person. This was a conversation too important to be had over wireless.

After a good, twelve-hour rest, she took a taxi to a high-end boutique, deciding that with cash to burn, she would let someone else dress her, and so ended up leaving the shop with a well-fitted, deep blue pantsuit, a white, ruffled blouse, and stylish black flats. Another stop ended with her replacing her battered, chipped, standard issue cane for a silver-handled, polished black one; if the PPDC was going to pay her to dress up, by jove, she was going to abuse it a bit! And after two more stops to have her hair twisted and twirled into a stylish updo, and her nails professionally painted to match her pantsuit, Hermione felt ready to face the crowds that would inevitably be scrambling to engage her. And maybe even ready to face Newt.

So, this is what she looks like when she finds herself shocked to stillness, standing on the other side of the ballroom and staring at her lab partner cum love interest, who apparently also has made a transformation in the 48 hours since they'd seen each other. Newt's short, fluffy brown hair has been smoothed to the side with some sort of gel, and she's wearing a little bit of makeup, just a dash of eyeliner, rouge, maybe even something to color her lips. But the more amazing sight is the bright red dress, nearly skin-tight, sleeveless, the straight neckline showing off the barest dip of cleavage, and the way it hugs her body showing off everything _else_. It ends mid-thigh, revealing her smooth, tattoo-less legs (Hermione always did wonder how far down they went), and pairs well with the black stiletto heels, silver chain necklace, and silver chandelier earrings she wears to accessorize.

She's bloody _gorgeous_. Hermione has never seen her in a dress, and maybe before the drift, it wouldn't have mattered, because Hermione would've believed that Newt was showing off for someone else, except now... When their eyes meet across the room, and Newt gives her a shy, soft smile, Hermione's breath catches as she realizes that this is for _her_. Newt has dressed herself up in a ridiculously impractical, yet inarguably sexy outfit, all to impress Hermione. As if Hermione wouldn't be impressed by her otherwise. As if she wouldn't have kissed Newt when they were bloody, scuffed up, and covered in filth.

Oh, they are both fools for one another. Still, Hermione isn't exactly displeased by what Newt has done to herself, and the nervous twist in her gut as she strides across the room is a mix of both emotional and physical desire.

"Hey, Herms," Newt says as Hermione reaches her. She's cradling a cup of punch, ignoring any other interested parties who keep trying to catch her eye. It seems she only has eyes for Hermione, gifting her with a dazzling, yet shy smile. "They, uh, gave you some money to burn too? You... you look really nice." Her teeth bite down against her lower lip as her gaze flicks up and down, taking in Hermione’s appearance. Lord help her, Hermione wants to be the one biting that lip.

"You're in a dress," Hermione says, mentally kicking herself for such an obvious, idiotic observation. "I mean- you never wear them."

"Trying something new, I guess," Newt says, shrugging. "How do I look?"

"You look..." She looks divine, like a gift from the sapphic gods. Hermione swallows, reaching out a hand. "Can we speak? Somewhere more private?"

Newt looks at her hand, eyes wide, but only takes a moment to consider the offer before clasping it with her own. "Yeah. You want to come back to my room?" The hotel they’re staying at is attached to the ballroom, so it wouldn’t be much of a journey.

Now it's Hermione's turn to look surprised, but she nods and lets Newt lead her out of the ballroom. She catches sight of Tendo downing a drink as they pass, and he gives her a cheery grin and wink, like he knows exactly what they're on about. Everyone does, probably. They're a bit obvious about it.

It's easy to slip down a hallway, away from the clamoring throngs of people eager to interact with them and find the nearest elevator. The moment the doors slide shut, Hermione finds herself unable to wait; the first moment they've had alone together since the drift, and Newt is far too close, heat radiating off of her, arms wrapped around herself in a nervous hold that only serves to highlight the swell of her chest in the tight fabric, looking up at Hermione with anticipatory excitement, waiting for her to make a move. So, she does, backing Newt up against the wall of the elevator (ten floors to their destination, _Gott_ , let no one dare try and get on this ride), cupping her cheek with one hand and finally, _finally_  bringing their lips together in an explosion of a decade's worth of buildup.

The kiss is electric, and the pleased gasp Newt lets out is swallowed as Hermione immediately turns the kiss from a closed-mouth, chaste affair to an open-mouthed chase to taste all of Newt's want for her. She braces herself against the elevator wall with one forearm, shivering as Newt's hands skirt her sides and land firmly on her waist, tugging her closer, clearly wanting the heat of their bodies to meet in the same way their lips have. Hermione can taste the familiar metallic tinge of a good brand of lipstick, a hint of the sugary-sweet gum Newt always likes to chew, and the new flavor that is quintessential Newt, a flavor she's wanted to sample now for years, but oh, it has been worth the wait.

"Herms," Newt breaths against her lips when she's allowed to have some air, "Jesus, I guess you do like the dress."

Hermione chuckles, taking the chance to draw Newt's lower lip between her teeth and suck on it gently for a moment, savoring the needy whine it pulls from Newt. "If we were not expected at this event for the next few hours, I would be ripping the damned unholy thing off of you, dear girl."

"So, if you're not gonna rip it off me, then what _are_  you planning on doing? Since you, y'know, asked for some privacy," Newt teases, eyes lighting up with mirth.

Hermione smiles, drawing back. "I said I would not rip. I did not say it would be staying on you."

With the flicker of pure lust that colors Newt's face, Hermione thinks she's a moment away from hitting the emergency stop button and dragging Hermione to the floor right this second. But luckily, the elevator halts and the doors chime, opening to the emptiness of the tenth-floor hallway. Newt strides forward, catching Hermione's arm with one hand, her other arm pressed across Hermione’s back, and practically carries her down the hall like she'd done in the Shatterdome when they were sprinting to deliver the news of the plan's failure to LOCCENT. It's a determined, yet considerate sort of hold. Even with the end of the world riding on their shoulders, Newt wasn't going to leave her behind. Partners in everything.

Newt's hands are shaking as she tugs her key card from the clutch hanging from her wrist, swiping it furiously into the lock. The light blinks a blessed green, and they practically bowl one another over entering the room. It's nearly the exact same as Hermione's, with a queen-sized bed on the left and two side tables on either side of it. Across from the bed is a long dresser with a flat screen television sitting atop, and on either side of the dresser are elegant metal sconces, bolted to the wall about six or seven feet off the ground, the opaque spherical lamps they hold lighting the room in a yellow glow. Against the back wall, under the window, is a small, wooden desk with a matching wooden chair. Simple, elegant furniture as would be expected in a hotel this outlandishly expensive.

As the door clicks shut, Newt drags Hermione towards the bed, seemingly determined to get them both on it to begin the highly anticipated activities that lie ahead. But Hermione is practical and knows that they will have to make a reappearance in the ballroom at some point, whether or not they both want to spend the rest of the evening undressed and exploring one another's bodies. Removing all their clothes will take time, and leaving them on while rutting against one another on a bed will ruin them for public use. So, instead, she flips Newt's grip on her wrist, grabbing a hold of her and pulling her over to the wall next to the dresser, pushing her back against it and pinning her by the shoulders.

"Here?" Newt asks, clearly confused as Hermione drags her free hand down Newt's side, gripping her waist and leaning in to press a line of kisses down her jaw. "Ah.... but, your hip, won't it be easier on the bed? And then you'll have both hands free."

"I will manage," Hermione says, sliding her hand from Newt's waist, trailing it down her thigh, fingers stroking and teasing the skin just under the edge of Newt's hemline. "I will only need one hand at the moment, and that chair will do nicely when my mouth replaces it."

"Oh, _Jesus_ , Hermione!" Newt groans, obviously realizing what she's implying. "Fuck, yes, okay." And then she's cupping the back of Hermione's neck and pulling her back down for another searing kiss, lipstick smearing against both their mouths as the passion they display intensifies. Thank god she chose a lighter color or they will look like wrecks when they leave, but dash it all, let everyone see it, let everyone know what they've done, what they are now to each other.

Hermione decides to make her move, sliding her hand farther up, tugging the hemline of Newt's dress higher as her fingers find the edge of a pair of black, lacy panties. She tucks her thumb underneath the edge, pushing it aside, feeling a tickle of hair before she dips her hand beneath the fabric. Her thumb finds its intended target, brushing tentatively against Newt’s clit. Newt moans against Hermione's mouth and rolls her hips forwards, asking for an increase in pressure with the motion of her body. So, Hermione swirls her thumb again, and at the same time, teases a finger downwards and inwards, finding a bit of lubrication to bring back up to help smooth out the slide of her thumb. More than a bit of lubrication, really. Newt is already soaked, dripping with anticipation, as it were. Bloody hell, this is how badly Newt desires her? It's flattering, it's shocking, it blooms an ache of want in her own body. She's probably going to have to at least take off her own slacks, if she doesn't want them ruined before this encounter is over.

Newt's hands are finding targets of their own, flicking open the buttons on Hermione's blouse and revealing the simple black bra beneath. She bows her head to pepper kisses across the swell of Hermione's breasts, tongue darting out to lap in pleasing little strokes that light up her oversensitive skin and leave cooling trails that tingle in the chill air of the room. Newt slips her hand beneath the fabric of one of the bra cups, lifting Hermione’s breast out of it, high enough to get her nipple free, and circles the hardened nub with her tongue, teething it gently and wrenching a high gasp from Hermione's throat. She's still sucking as her hands wind their way behind Hermione's back to grip the clasps of her bra.

"N-no," Hermione says, tugging her hand out from under Newt's dress and cupping her chin to draw it up. "Not yet, dear. Later, I promise."

Newt stares at her, likely deciding whether to ignore Hermione's instruction. She must decide it's worth waiting, because her hands slide away. At the same time, she grasps the wrist cupping her chin and lifts Hermione's hand, drawing two fingers, the two that have been _inside of her_ , into her mouth, suckling them, eyes fluttering shut, moaning softly, as if tasting herself on Hermione's fingers brings her such joy. And now Hermione must have her, must taste her immediately.

"Stay here," she says, pulling away, but only so she can drag the chair over from the desk and sit down in front of the other woman. Newt's eyes go wide, and now it's her turn to shake her head. "What's wrong?" Hermione asks.

"I'm gonna fuck your hair up," Newt says, grinning as she turns a lovely shade of rose. "I get really overwhelmed when... when people eat me out, and I'm not gonna be able to stop myself from grabbing you. Shit, I wanna mess you up so bad, Herms. But I'm serious, I get handsy, and there's no way in hell I'll have the sense of mind to avoid tearing that up-do apart. Maybe we should save this for later too." Even as she says it, it looks like she's pissed at herself for offering it up.

Hermione considers this, considers the mechanics of what she's about to do, and how she might alleviate Newt's concerns. As she glances up, she sees the wall sconce, no more than two feet above Newt's head, and she gets a wicked, delightful idea.

"Where are those dratted skinny ties you wear, Newton, darling? You must have brought a few," Hermione says, pushing herself back up. Newt's suitcase is sitting on the bed, and she unzips it, pulling it open and smiling to see her intuition was correct: there are two ties tucked into the side. She selects one and moves back towards Newt, who must instantly get the notion she's forming in her mind, because she grins at Hermione and raises her hands above her head.

Quickly, Hermione binds Newt's wrists to the wall sconce, stepping back after and leaving her stretched out against the wall, breathing hard and arching forwards in want of touch.

"This is pretty kinky for our first go around, babe," Newt says, shuddering when Hermione trails a hand down the front of her body. "Sh-shit, please don't be so far away right now, I need you so bad."

"I'm sorry, _mein liebling_ ," Hermione says, wrapping her arms around Newt's waist and kissing her softly. Newt's desperate whine sends a powerful shiver down Hermione's spine, a bolt of want that leaves her aching to touch and explore and taste the other woman. Her hands find the top of the back of Newt's dress, the dangling zipper, and she slowly draws it down, down, all the way, until it slides off Newt's body and pools around her feet. Hermione drops back into the chair, wanting a good view.

Oh, Newt is a gorgeous sight underneath, tattoos covering most of her chest, down to her hips, and disappearing underneath the fabric of her panties. She's got a slight bulge of belly, and she giggles when Hermione leans in and nips teasingly, loving the softness, the warmth she can feel when she rubs her cheek against Newt's stomach. Other than the panties, she only wears a strapless black bra, but Hermione leaves it alone, wanting a surprise she can anticipate later. This is plenty enough to draw her interest right now.

Hermione grasps Newt's waist and begins layering lines of kisses across her stomach, enjoying the way it makes the other woman squirm and gasp, obviously a sensitive area for her. She can smell the headiness of Newt's want already, and it stirs a need in her own body, enough so that she preemptively unbuttons and unzips her slacks, wriggling them, along with her panties, down to the ground, until she sits bare-bottomed on the cold wood of the chair. No good being careful of their clothes and hair if she soaks herself through before they've even started. She also dips her thumbs into the sides of Newt's panties, dragging them down to hang around her knees.

"Hermione, _please_ ," Newt begs when she presses a faint kiss against the swell of Newt’s mound. "Please use your mouth on me, _fuck_ , you don't know how long I've wanted you to-"

And then her words are lost to babbling as Hermione dives in and does as she's requested. Hermione's tongue wriggles forward to lap against Newt's swollen clit, her hands pulling Newt's folds apart so she can lick her more easily. The other woman trembles and jerks forwards, rolling up against Hermione's mouth and begging for more.

Newt cries out when Hermione thrusts her tongue into Newt's body, wanting to see her reaction, delighted when Newt's barely stable stance in her stiletto heels is lost and she falls out of one, the loss of height pulling her arms higher, practically dangling from the sconce as Hermione works her over. She utilizes both her hands and mouth, swirling her tongue in rapid circles against Newt's clit while her fingers plunge threefold into Newt, each impassioned cry from her new lover ringing through her whole body, an ache that grows nearly painful, so that she eventually uses her free hand on herself to ease the ache.

It's a magnificent sort of moment. Newt tastes rich, slightly acidic but heavy on Hermione's tongue as she rocks forwards, making known how much she's enjoying what the other woman is doing to her, her moans growing heavier, longer, more strained. It is music to Hermione's ears, she wants to know every inch of Newt's body, how to please her, how to draw certain sounds out of her. She wonders how Newt orgasms: is it an instant, rapid rush or a slowly building thing. Does it matter whether it’s her first, or second, or third one, or so on? Bloody hell, if they had the time, Hermione would keep her right here for hours, giving her relief over and over, trying to discern if her taste changed after each orgasm wrenched from her body. The thought of it drives her fingers deeper into her own body, speeds up the swirl of her thumb against her own clit, drags her closer and closer to her own release.

" _Hermione_ ," Newt sobs in a broken voice, and Hermione feels Newt lift a leg, bracing it on Hermione's good thigh as she rocks forward again. "I wanna touch you, wanna taste you too, please..." She's trembling so hard, Hermione knows she must be close, so she keeps up the same motions, working her mercilessly as Newt's pitch goes higher and higher, each _yes!_  shortening up until she shouts, and Hermione plunges her tongue into Newt a final time, feeling Newt clench tightly around the muscle and come, hard. Hermione grips her hips and holds her up while she shakes through the release.

"Do you still want to taste me?" Hermione asks when she's through, pressing wet kisses across Newt's stomach, chin and lips drenched with her juices.

"Yeah," Newt pants, so Hermione hoists herself up once more, undoing the knots of Newt's tie, which takes a frustratingly long time since Newt has pulled them tight with her straining. But then Newt is free, and she shoves Hermione down into the chair, dropping to her knees and licking into her so rapidly that Hermione yelps and grabs Newt's shoulders, dizzy with the shock of it.

Newt definitely knows what she's doing, definitely has done this before, and definitely wants to make it good for Hermione, twisting and flicking her tongue in different ways, teasing and stroking inside her folds. It's all wonderful, but she's so close to coming anyway that practically anything Newt could do would be good enough. She's going to have to let Newt get her off from start to finish, and the anticipation of doing that, along with a few good swirls of Newt's tongue, finally drives her over the edge, yelling as her orgasm bends her forward and rushes through her like a roaring river, splashing pleasure out to the tips of her fingers and toes. She has a momentary thought that she’s forgotten to give Newt the same warning she gives all her lovers, that release for her is both a sensation and a literal gush of liquid, but with the way Newt’s tongue wriggles and laps into her as she comes, and the pleased noise she makes, Hermione doesn’t think she minds it.

They both spend a few moments where they are, trying to breathe and think again. When Hermione looks down, she sees that Newt is a mess; legs shiny with her own release, lips and chin gleaming with Hermione's, and hair sticking out at all angles - wait, did _Hermione_  do that? Bloody hell, perhaps she has her own proclivities for hair pulling.

"We should clean up," Hermione says, panting softly. "We really must go back down there."

"You get another hour out of me in this fucking dress," Newt replies, resting her forehead on Hermione's knee. "It's tight and I can barely breathe or move in it. Impractical as shit."

"Then why did you wear it?"

Newt glances up, grinning and motioning with a sweep of her arm to their current state.

"Ah," Hermione replies, grinning back.

"Besides," Newt says, "I really don't give a shit about hobnobbing with the rich and famous. All I want is you and me to get out of these clothes and into that bed for the remainder of the weekend."

Hermione laughs and cups Newt's jaw, tugging her up for a soft kiss. "Alright. One hour for appearances' sake, and then I'm all yours. For the rest of this weekend and beyond."

They really will have to make sure to take care of that dress. Hermione believes they'll be getting a lot of use out of it in the future.


End file.
